


Tension

by eledhwenlin



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-02
Updated: 2012-10-02
Packaged: 2017-11-15 12:29:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/527326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eledhwenlin/pseuds/eledhwenlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendon is restless. Spencer knows exactly how to help Brendon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tension

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the _held down_ square on my [](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**kink_bingo**](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) card. First fill, woohoo. My love and thanks go to [](http://lalejandra.dreamwidth.org/profile)[](http://lalejandra.dreamwidth.org/)**lalejandra** for the beta.  <333

Brendon feels like he's going to jitter right out of his skin. His mom used to call these phases Brendon's "energy congestion." Brendon's never told her how fitting he found the expression: there's all this energy and it's stuck inside him.

He checks his phone—no new messages, no missed calls, no nothing. He gets up to get himself more coffee, but halfway to the kitchen he stops and turns around. Caffeine's not going to help him any right now. He sits back down on the couch next to Spencer, who's still talking to Jackie on the phone. Boy troubles, Brendon thinks, if Spencer's "I can come to Las Vegas and hurt him" is anything to go by.

Brendon wishes he could turn on the TV, watch a random show or play Xbox, but it'll probably bother Spencer. Brendon's leg starts to twitch automatically, one pathetically small release for all that pent-up frustration, but it takes the worst of it away.

Brendon thinks about getting up again; he could take Bogart to the dog park, play fetch him, or go for a run until his legs hurt and his lungs burn, sweat dripping of his nose.

Spencer puts his hand on Brendon's knee and pushes Brendon's leg down, so he can't jiggle it anymore. "Yeah, J, I get it," he says, his voice not betraying the death grip he has on Brendon's leg. "No, I won't tell Pete to slander him on the internet."

Spencer wraps his hand around Brendon's thigh just a little bit over his knee, still keeping his leg still. Something inside Brendon relaxes, like a drawn bow slowly being released.

"Okay. Take care of yourself, okay? You're still my baby sister, I don't give a shit how many degrees you have. Yeah. Love you, bye."

Spencer ends the call and puts the phone on the coffee table. Brendon itches to take Spencer's phone and put it away—Bogart can get at it, it's not safe there, Spencer should—

"Ropes or cuffs?" Spencer asks.

Brendon blinks. He ponders his options—and Spencer lets him. "No," Brendon says. "Can you just—" He puts his hand on Spencer's, thinks about Spencer's hands.

"Can I just what, Brendon?" Spencer says in that calm, even voice that makes Brendon relax even more. Spencer's in control, Spencer's got this, Spencer's going to take of Brendon.

"Can you just hold me down?" Brendon says. "I mean, with your hands. Just. Please?"

Spencer rubs his thumb over Brendon's leg. "Yeah, I can do that."

"Okay," Brendon says. "Then I'd like that."

Spencer grabs Brendon's wrist, encircles it lightly. "What else?"

Brendon wishes Spencer would stop asking him and just take him upstairs. Brendon wants to stop thinking.

"Brendon," Spencer says. "What else?"

"Just hold me down and fuck me," Brendon says. "That's all I want. _Please_." _Make it stop_ , he thinks, but doesn't say.

"Okay." Spencer draws Brendon close and whispers into his ear, "Get naked. Now."

Brendon gets up immediately and takes his shirt off. He's only wearing flip-flops, so he can just kick them off. His shorts are Spencer's, old ones, too wide on both of them now, and they hang low on Brendon's waist. Brendon pushes them off together with his underwear, lets them pool around his feet before he steps out of them. Then he waits.

Spencer smacks the back of Brendon's thigh. "You're too messy," he says. "Pick your fucking mess up right now."

Fuck. Brendon's forgotten to fold his clothes. He's so out of it, it totally slipped his mind. He straightens them out and puts them carefully on the coffee table, his flip-flops neatly lined up just underneath. Spencer likes it this way, all orderly and tidy and more things in ending in -y that Brendon can't quite grasp.

"Good boy," Spencer says. He rubs the spot he just hit. "You fixed that very well."

"Thank you," Brendon says.

"Kneel," Spencer says.

Brendon wants to drop to his knees, but he makes sure to go down slowly, like Spencer wants him to: small step forward, shift weight forward, bend his free leg and go down carefully, lean back slightly, pull his front leg back until he's kneeling. It takes exactly three breaths.

"That was so good of you," Spencer says and puts his hands around Brendon's face. "You remembered how you're supposed to go down on your knees, that's good." He rubs his thumbs over Brendon's cheeks, and Brendon closes his eyes. Spencer's praise and touch makes him shiver, but with each round of his thumbs, it's like Spencer actually pushes the frenzy out of Brendon's brain. It only makes Brendon want Spencer to hold him down more, fill the place left behind by the frenzy with something different before it can come back.

"So pretty," Spencer says. He leans forward and kisses Brendon's forehead. "Now go into our bedroom."

Their bed's made—Spencer must've done it when he got up, because Brendon had already gotten up at ass o'clock for no real reason except that he couldn't sleep anymore.

"Lie down," Spencer says from behind him. "On your back, your legs spread. Look at the ceiling."

Brendon obeys. For a short moment, he wishes he'd chosen the ropes, something tangible to hold him down now while he can't see Spencer, sees only flashes of Spencer walking. But then Spencer kneels next to him on the bed and reaches for Brendon's wrists. He puts them over Brendon's head, crossed neatly, arranging Brendon like a rag doll. It turns Brendon on, being handled like this, and he spreads his legs a bit further, making himself a little bit open more.

"You want it so much," Spencer says, his voice proud and pleased. Something warm blooms in Brendon's chest.

And then Spencer's on top of him, his hand tight around Brendon's wrist, hard enough to hurt, and he's pressing Brendon down against the mattress, trapping him, immobilising him.

Brendon's natural reaction is to wrap his legs around Spencer's waist and whimper. _More_ , he wants to say, but his tongue is not cooperating.

"Fuck," Spencer says. "You're so—"

Brendon never learns what he is so much of, because then Spencer kisses him. Brendon once read one of the romance novels Kayla devoured when she was in high school; it said the pirate "plundered" the lady's mouth. This, what Spencer's doing right now, is exactly how Brendon pictured that scene. Spencer's not asking—Spencer's fucking taking it, and he's filling all the hollow places in Brendon with himself.

When Spencer lets up, Brendon's mouth feels bruised and he's painfully hard. "Spencer," Brendon whispers. "Please."

Spencer's fingers are just as relentless as his mouth. Brendon writhes, his wrists rubbing together in the tight circle of Spencer's hand, as Spencer pushes one finger into Brendon. Last time they went shopping, Brendon picked up some novelty lube advertising whiskey flavour.

"Whiskey," Spencer had said.

"To better rim me," Brendon had said. "You know you're gonna love it." They had, of course, immediately tried it out, and Spencer had announced it his new most favourite lube of all time.

The fake smell of whiskey now makes Brendon happy because it makes Spencer happy, and more of the treacherous tension seeps out of him. He wishes Spencer would just fuck him, unstretched and dry, because Brendon's already missing his weight, feels like he might start to shake apart now if Spencer doesn't hold him together.

Spencer adds another finger, pushing them in and out of Brendon's body fast, and he's looking at Brendon, smiling. "Soon," Spencer says and tightens his hand around Brendon's wrist.

"Please," Brendon says. He knows Spencer loves it when Brendon begs, but Brendon's almost forgotten how to speak, how to make sense of words. _Spencer_ and _please_ are all he can think of.

Spencer lets go of Brendon, and Brendon immediately whines. His arms feel almost weightless, now that the pressure of Spencer's hand gone, and Brendon misses it.

But when Spencer settles against Brendon's body again, he's wearing a condom and his cock is nudging against Brendon's ass. Spencer reaches out to take hold of Brendon's wrists again. "You're mine," Spencer whispers against Brendon's cheek.

"I'm yours." Brendon turns his head to press a kiss against Spencer's lips.

"Good boy." Spencer pushes against Brendon's ass, guiding his cock with one hand until he finds Brendon's entrance. Brendon takes a deep breath and relaxes, hitching his hips up to make it easier for Spencer. And then Spencer's finally pushing inside Brendon, filling him up, and Brendon feels like he can breathe freely again. Spencer's here and holding Brendon down, securing him, anchoring him, and everything feels good and right and Brendon never wants this to stop.

Spencer fucks him slowly, pushing into Brendon at a glacial pace, withdrawing even slower. Brendon wants Spencer to pound into him, make Brendon feel it (him) for the next few days, that slight twinge whenever he walks. "Harder, please," Brendon mumbles.

"No," Spencer says. "You didn't ask for that."

Brendon whines, a soft wordless sound, and Spencer laughs at him. He leans down to kiss Brendon's breath away, press him even harder against the mattress while he's going so slow. Brendon thinks they could go for hours like this, just the steady slide of Spencer's cock in Brendon's body, and it's strangely comforting. Brendon's turned on, but instead of the fast hot surge it's a slow build-up, like a cresting wave when the tide comes in, the water lapping against the shore.

Spencer's kisses are soft and gentle, like during early morning make-outs when they both don't want to get up and instead get lost in each other's bodies. And still Spencer's hand is clamped tightly around Brendon's wrists, a familiar, comfortable weight, letting Brendon know that he's not in control, he can let go and Spencer will take care of him.

"You're taking care of me," Brendon says when Spencer mouths his way down Brendon's jawline to suck on Brendon's neck.

"Hm," is Spencer's reply. "Always," he whispers into Brendon's ear. "Stop thinking."

When they first started doing this, Brendon was scared by how easy it was to give up control for Spencer—until he figured out that Spencer was good for him, holding him and giving him commands. Spencer's good at being in control, and Brendon's not. It works in their favour, though, and by now Brendon's stopped questioning it. It's good, is the thing, being able to lie back and let Spencer make all the decisions.

When Brendon comes, it's almost a surprise. He's been there for so long, just on the cusp of coming, his cock brushing against Spencer's belly every now and then, Spencer's cock hitting that sweet spot, still sliding in and out of Brendon so slowly it hardly counts as fucking. And then Spencer rolls his hips just so and suddenly Brendon's coming. He shouts against Spencer's mouth, gasping for air and letting his orgasm roll over him.

"Fuck," Brendon says, gulping in big mouthfuls of air, and that's when Spencer starts moving faster.

"Damn, Brendon," Spencer says. "You feel so fucking good." Brendon wants to laugh, full of delight, but then Spencer is pounding into him, each thrust a shock because Brendon's so sensitive after coming, and Spencer's pressing him down harder, crowding him, taking Brendon for all he's worth.

Brendon whimpers each time Spencer bottoms out. And then Spencer comes, with a quiet gasp, pressing his mouth against Brendon's cheek, frozen in place for just a moment—until he collapses on top of Brendon.

"Just a minute, B," Spencer mumbles. "Just—let me breathe."

Spencer squeezes Brendon's wrists one more time and then he lets go. Brendon's arms are tingling, but his entire body feels so heavy, he doesn't think he can move just yet. In fact, he's so tired, all the tension and energy sapped right out of his body, and his eyes flutter closed.

"Brendon?" Spencer asks, amused.

"Hmm." Brendon thinks not moving is best. Spencer's not telling him to move.

"I guess you're feeling better then." Still amused.

Brendon starts to say, "Yes," but then he has to yawn mid-word.

Spencer presses a kiss against Brendon's temple. "Okay," Spencer says. He pulls out, which stings a little and Brendon opens his eyes. His vision is a bit blurred, but he can see Spencer leaning over him. "Go to sleep," Spencer says softly. It's not a command, but Brendon smiles back and obeys anyway.


End file.
